


This time you will be loved

by Sapph



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 0-8-4, F/M, post-redemption, powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapph/pseuds/Sapph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world no longer lies in black and white, it discloses cause from consequence, and she can see the seams of manipulation where he was pulled apart and sewn back together (or where Skye’s 084 powers develop and she can see the past overlap the present).</p>
            </blockquote>





	This time you will be loved

The gentle eddies of the stream lap at her bare feet as she steps forward, the stones at the bottom digging into the tender skin of her soles. The forest is calm but alive with sound, the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the breeze, but she can feel the echoes of the past shimmer through the existing peace. She can hear the raindrops splatter upon a trembling form, the whine of a canine who can do nothing but huddle closer, and the sobs of desperation that reach no heart but hers. She can see the stars reflected in familiar eyes, and they shine gold even through years of accumulating scar tissue -she can see _him_.

 

She flinches when the gunshot rings, a bullet tearing through the linearity of time, and feels the tears burn in her eyes. Calloused fingers entwine with her own, gently tugging her back from the water. She steps into the present and leans against his chest.

 

“Are you with me?” he asks, his voice like balm on her aching soul as his arms wrap around her mortal body.

 

“Always,” she promises as the world finally settles. She turns in his embrace and curves her fingers around the back of his head but applies no pressure. She will not force him to move; he must come to her.

 

He always does.

 

 _A monster_ , Raina had called her, but the truth came not from her revelation, instead it bled from hopeless eyes as she forged her love so carefully into a weapon. She cannot enter that part of the base any longer; her words resonate in the walls of the prison cell, but his silence screams and claws at her conscience.

 

He tells her there is nothing to forgive, that he has earned a far worse punishment for the atrocities he has committed, and back then she had been convinced of the same -but the world no longer lies in black and white, it discloses cause from consequence, and she can _see_ the damage wrought; she can trace the lines upon his soul, marks of anger and seams of manipulation where he was pulled apart and sewn back together.

 

Their lips part reluctantly, but their eyes lock to negate the distance between them. There is love in his eyes, but a certain fear as well, one that crosses decades to stir doubt and self-loathing. It is a quiet fear unlike the raging panic that occasionally drags his mind into the past, like a tree too deep-rooted to be ever torn down without causing damage to the ground beneath.

 

Stroking her fingers along the side of his face, she presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth and feels it curve beneath her lips.

 

“We should head back,” he whispers gravelly. She rests her cheek against his and breathes into his ear, enjoying the way he shivers with every gust of air.

 

“I know,” she responds, a statement more laden than it sounds, because a witness of the past bears memories to the future as he had brought her here at his therapist's behest, and she can tell he remembers; she takes his hands between her own and absorbs the tremor of his bones.

 

“Your shoes,” he reminds her when she takes a step towards the tree line. She turns and laughs at her own inadvertence. He holds her steady as she slides her wet feet into the rubber boots.

 

He twines their hands and leads her through the trees like he's roamed these woods his whole life, but home is not a place, it is the warmth at their point of contact, a gentle touch and a shared look -it is the willingness to understand.

 

The car is exactly where they left it. Skye takes the wheel as he stares out the window, watching trees roll by until the forest thins to ivy-covered houses and copses of crooked saplings.

 

\---

 

She drives the SUV onto the ramp of the Bus and slams her door shut a little too exuberantly. The metal hull that surrounds her contains a multitude memories, some happy, some sad, but all of them life-changing -and not just for her.

 

“Did you have a nice trip?” Coulson greets them, his gaze curious, but he knows better than to ask what she's seen. She smiles but doesn't reply, instead her eyes follow Grant's tall form as he slinks from the cargo hold as if his presence isn't wanted -ghosts track his movements, too many not to feel guilty she never noticed.

 

She shifts her gaze to the side and watches her hands connect with his chest, watches his head snap back as she lurches forward, and remembers the pain that came with his betrayal, the wrenching in her gut as the masks shattered and she saw for the first time his broken perception. But she did not _see_ at the time, did not hear the desperation in his voice or the resignation in his eyes. All she'd known was an all-encompassing sense of hurt; it had blinded her vision and sharpened her words for months to come.

 

She sees him step back as she hurls accusations and closes her eyes. She had ever right to be angry then, no one would deny that, but all she feels now is regret; he has taken enough blows, she can't stand to watch herself deliver more. When her eyes open the past is gone, except it never is, it lingers beneath the surface, in broken off glances and sore throats. Sometimes when he wakes up screaming in the pit of night, the past screams with him. It paralyses her with fear, traps her in-between until memories blend together and she can't distinguish what _is_ from what _was_. Sometimes one of their team mates barges in and she realizes she's screaming too.

 

“Skye,” Coulson sighs, snapping her out of her trance.

 

“I'm sorry, what?” she asks, apologetic.

 

“Get some rest,” he urges, sounding as tired as she feels.

 

“Yeah,” she says, running a hand through her hair, “that's a good idea.”

 

The sight that greets her when she open the door to her bunk warms her heart. Grant is sprawled on top of the covers, fast-asleep and fully dressed. At least he had the common sense to take off his shoes.

 

The outline of his body shimmers and blurs to remind her how many times this has happened before. She holds the fond laughter in her chest and brushes a strand of hair from his forehead, before sliding into place next to him where the ghost of her already lies.

 

\---

 

He freezes in the middle of the hotel corridor where they've tracked the target, so suddenly she walks right into him.

 

“Don't look,” he hisses through his teeth, but his voice is unsteady and dismayed, so of course she disregards his words and looks. But there's nothing there. For a moment she's confused, her brow furrowing and a question on her tongue, until she realizes-

 

The figure in front of her is young and brash, lithe body pressed flush against another's. But it is not the rough movements that strike her, rather the uncertain jerk of his limbs when hands move lower, the panic that scratches at the steel in his eyes.

 

She has never seen him like this.

 

The phantom that leaves the hotel room is not the same as the one who entered. She can see the difference in his tentative steps, the bruises around his wrists and the slump of his shoulders. A shudder wrecks her spine as she watches him turn up the collar of his coat to hide the-

 

“Skye,” a voice pleads. It snaps her back so suddenly she stumbles, placing one hand on the wall to collect herself.

 

“What-” she starts but cannot find the words, air batters against her teeth as she tries to come to terms with what she just witnessed.

 

“It's okay, it was necessary,” she hears him say; but those are not his words, they echo faintly in the distance and reek of Garrett.

 

She looks into his dark eyes wide with shame and feels like retching.

 

\---

 

For obvious reasons, she tries not to activate her powers in certain places, but sometimes high emotions linger and she cannot help but catch a glimpse of what transpired.

 

She sees him cry when she steps into the shower.

 

She shouldn't watch, this she knows, but his back slides down the shower wall and her heart aches. Feelings vacillating between guilt and helplessness, she lowers herself down next to his echo and wraps her arms around her knees. Not for the first time she wonders what good seeing the past does when she can't change it.

 

 _You can fix the present_ , a voice reminds her. The look in his eyes haunts her. The implication of what transpired makes her sick. She can't imagine what it must be like for him to recognize that place and know she saw- She scrambles up from the wet floor, almost trips over the shower rim and grabs her towel from the rack.

 

He looks up when she enters the lounge, her wet hair dripping across one of his shirts. He seems collected, but the set of his shoulders it too tight and his eyes are blank. It doesn't fool her -not anymore.

 

She sits down next to him. The real him. The present him. The one who didn't come to her, but ran away instead, who folded into himself and pulled away. She knows how to crack open the shutter of his eyes, how to unlock the rigid set of his vertebrae -but the risk of fracture is too great. So she waits in silence, watching the echoes of her team mates as they laugh and joke, watching the ghost of him crack a smile at something Fitz says only to flinch when Simmons frowns. It hadn't been easy for any of them at first -personal betrayal always stings worse than moral outrage- but even they had learned to deal with the past, and the rift between them had slowly closed mission by mission.

 

She jerks in surprised as he shifts beside her, manoeuvring his legs over the side of the couch so he can lay his head in her lap. This is the way they sat when she told him about her powers, about the things she'd seen, except now their positions are reversed. He looks up at her with eyes that still reflect the stars, bright and brilliant behind a haze of memory, a blindfold of interwoven voices who wanted nothing more than to turn his gaze into dead light.

 

He tells her with words, but he speaks with trust.

 

She has only ever met one monster, and she'd thought him funny then, charming even, but now she hates him with a passion; even though he's nothing but ashes and prints upon her partner's mind.

 

 _You wouldn't believe what I could talk this son of a gun into_ , she hears and her head snaps up to see the subject of her abhorrence greeting the man she loves. She clenches her jaw, brow furrowing, until fingers brush her chin and draw her back to the present.

 

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly, but the look in his eyes is apprehensive. She wraps her fingers around his and holds them against her cheek, tilting her head to press her lips against the back of his hand.

 

“I love you,” she says, smiling at the way his breath catches.The scars of the past cannot be erased, they shift like phantoms underneath their skin, but she will never let him suffer in silence as he will never let her suffer alone. She will repeat those words until they echo through his soul, until every glance shines light unhindered through the darkness.

 

“I love you too,” he whispers tentatively, as if someone might snatch his declaration from the air.

 

She will love him until he can't recall what the opposite feels like, and for the first time in her life she smiles with the knowledge that someone will do the same for her.

 

 

 

 


End file.
